


Fireworks

by avxry



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fireworks, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, New Years, Teenlock, friendship to relationship, it's sort of a date i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1995777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avxry/pseuds/avxry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John drags Sherlock out to the park to see the fireworks on New Year's Eve. As it turns out, the fireworks are extremely appropriate, and Sherlock is glad that he came.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: I am extremely American, so you have full permission to call me out on my American-ness. If there's anything that is remotely not-British, let me know and I'll amend it. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had been friends since their first year at high school. Sherlock was two years younger but in the same grade, since his marks were beyond excellent. They had only one class together: algebra. John was exceptional at maths. 

Sherlock had always been the freak. He was the smart kid who could tell anything about you in a moment's glance. John, on the other hand, had been fairly popular and had always had friends. He'd had a few girlfriends, none too serious. 

Somehow, the two became best friends. 

John had grown quite fond of Sherlock. Sure, he was arrogant and annoying at times, but that was made him Sherlock. 

Christmas had just passed. Sherlock had never been extremely fond of the holiday, but he had put on a smile for John. He had joined the Watsons for the day, since John had nearly begged. Sherlock's family celebrated Christmas, of course, but John had been there at Sherlock's "birthday party," and it was a nightmare. John insisted Sherlock escape. 

It wasn't a hard decision on Sherlock's part. No one really noticed he was gone. 

John's parents had let him go to the little fireworks show for New Year's with Sherlock. It was the first year they had let him go without adult supervision; John had been bitter of it the whole time. He was finally eighteen, and although Sherlock was younger, he was extremely mature. John's parents trusted him (they didn't know about his odd experiments). 

The day before, they were in Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock was pouring over some biology book and John was tossing a Rubix cube between his hands, lying down on the bed. 

"Come on, Sherlock," John said, nudging his shoulder, "it'll be fun." 

"Fun," Sherlock scoffed. "I do not understand why loud noises and crowds are fun." 

"It's not the noise and the crowd that's fun," John rolled his eyes. "It's being with friends and seeing the fireworks." 

It was Sherlock's turn to roll his eyes. "You have friends. I have a friend." 

John shrugged. "I don't hang out with them anymore anyway. I don't even know if they're going." 

"They were boring anyway," Sherlock retorted. John let out a snort of laughter in agreement. 

"Pretty much." 

John set down the Rubix cube and sighed, laying his head on the pillow. He spotted a blank piece of paper on the floor and snatched it up. With a moment of thought, he folded down the corners and kept folding until he made a typical paper plane. He squinted his eyes a little and aimed for Sherlock's ear. He steadied his hand and sent the plane flying. It missed its intended destination and flicked Sherlock right in the nose. 

Sherlock looked up and tried to flash John an annoyed look, but he couldn't help but chuckle and grumble, "Fine, I'll go." 

"Yes!" John pumped his fist in the air with a grin. "I promise you'll have fun." 

"Sure," Sherlock said skeptically. 

 

*****

 

"Bye Mum," John called as he shut the door, dragging Sherlock behind him. "C'mon, cheer up," he grinned. "This'll be fun." 

Sherlock gave John a pointed look. "Our definitions of "fun" are completely opposite." 

"That might be true," John shrugged, "but fireworks are the best. It's just the being out and about with friends part that I like the most. It's like a party." 

"I don't like parties." 

"You'll like this one," John said, not giving up on convincing Sherlock. 

Since the park that was putting on the fireworks show was only a short distance from John's house, they had both agreed to walk instead of spending money on a pointless cab ride.

They began the walk down the thin sidewalk. Their shoulders bumped with every step they took. More than once, their hands brushed each other's as their walked, sending tiny jolts of electricity through their fingertips. 

Perhaps this is a good time to visit the topic of the two boys' feelings toward each other. John's toward Sherlock were very, very strong; definitely more than just friendship, though no one knew it but he. Sherlock's toward John were even stronger than that.

It was different for him, though: He had no idea that this was love. He had never had a true friend before and automatically assumed that what he felt for John was what everyone felt for his or her best friend. He assumed everyone wanted to kiss his or her best friend, or hug, or hold hands with him or her, because that was how he felt toward John. 

John, however, knew very well that he loved Sherlock, because he knew the difference. This is a prime example of the idea that knowing the name of something does not necessarily make it stronger. Sherlock knew not the name of the emotion, yet it was still somehow stronger than John's. This is not to say that John did not love Sherlock very much; he did. But Sherlock loved him more. 

Sherlock did not know how to express his feelings. He wasn't sure if yearning to grab John's hand every time it brushed his was an appropriate thought on which to act. Because of this, when it happened for about the fifth or sixth time, Sherlock hooked his fingers slightly, holding onto John's for a second longer than usual--just long enough for John to notice.

Sherlock's cheeks were a light red (the darkest he could blush) when John looked over at him. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking away. Sherlock didn't see it, but John turned away and let a small grin take over his lips. 

They continued walking, almost to their destination, when their hands brushed again, but not very accidentally; John's fingers latched onto Sherlock's calmly, not even making a facial expression to go along with it. 

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise. He glanced over at John, who acted as if nothing happened, apart from a little smile on the corner of his mouth when their eyes met. Sherlock let his lips curl into a little smile as well and furled his fingers around the palm of John's hand. 

 

*****

 

The whole park was crowded with hardly any breathing room left for people just coming in. John understood why his mother always rushed them to get there quickly. The usual spot that John was accustomed to was taken by some couple and their nephew (Sherlock made it adamant that it was their nephew, not their son ["She's obviously a dedicated Christian, judging by the cross on her necklace and earrings, and they don't have wedding bands, therefore they are not married, which means she would not allow for any sexual event to take place. The boy is her boyfriend's bother's."] for some reason unbeknownst to the dull mind of John Watson). 

John just shrugged it off and kept looking for a place to sit, though it was looking as if they were going to have to stand. John was practically dragging Sherlock behind him, since their hands were still clasped together, though Sherlock's didn't really mind. He liked the feeling of John's hand in his, even if it came with being yanked through crowds of people. 

Finally, they found a spot far off, right by the river that ran through it. There was a horizontal pole blocking keeping anyone from falling in (Sherlock pointed out that it wouldn't serve as much use to shorter people, considering there was just an empty space below the railing). The two stood leaning against the railing with their hands, looking out across the river.

"Still waiting for the fun," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Oh, come off it," John laughed. "You're loving this. The fresh air, the chill of the oncoming night, the buzz of happy people."

"I am most certainly not 'loving this,' " Sherlock denied, but a smile was placed delicately on his lips.

"You are."

"Not."

"Stop lying."

"I'm doing no such thing."

The two laughed and made sparkling eye contact that probably wasn't supposed to mean anything but definitely did. Their focus was maintained for much longer than socially acceptable (they also stood closer than socially acceptable) but no one was keeping tabs.

They chatted aimlessly until the sky was a darkened navy blue, a star or two peeking out. John made Sherlock deduce everyone around them, never tiring of his best friend's brilliance. Sherlock rolled his eyes and pretended to be annoyed, but both of them knew he secretly enjoyed it. He pointed out a couple who both wanted a divorce but wouldn't get one ("Then the husband would have to admit to cheating on her with his ex girlfriend. The wife won't ask for one because she would also have to admit that she was cheating with his ex girlfriend.") and two children who had been in foster families all their lives but secretly played all of them happily.

At one point just before dark, a baby on the arm of her father had begun playing with Sherlock's hair, a gigantic grin on her face. John thought it as adorable, but Sherlock detested the thought of anyone -- especially strange babies that probably carried strange diseases -- touching his hair.

Sherlock had stood stock still, not knowing how to handle the monstrous creature. He felt no sympathy for babies. Or anyone really (except John). But especially not babies.

Eventually John was bullied by Sherlock into asking the baby's father to, as Sherlock put it, "get the retched monstrosity far away from the vicinity." Needless to say, John was one-hundred-percent-more polite. The father moved a bit farther apologized with a kind smile and moved farther away so his child would not be tempted to touch his hair.

John was secretly jealous she got to touch it at all.

But now, his watch told him that it was nearly time for the fireworks to start. They typically lasted about ten minutes (they were grand, in every sense of the word). Presumably, they would start at 11:51 p.m. so that the final minute would be the first minute of the new year (it was like this because couples tended to enjoy the fireworks in the background of their new years' kiss).

"Fireworks should start in a minute or so," John informed Sherlock. They both had their hands on the railing, looking out across the night sky, waiting. 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "If they aren't as good as you say they are, I will personally drench all of your hideous jumpers in every chemical I own."

"Bit harsh, are we?" John smirked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he turned away so John wouldn't see his grin.

As planned, the fireworks began at exactly 11:51 p.m. As planned, Sherlock was entranced by the sheer beauty of it. He quite frankly adored explosions (especially creating them), and was fascinated by how much prettier they could be when they were forced to take shape in the sky. Of course, he would never admit this to John. John saw it on his face anyway and couldn't stop smiling at his companion.

About halfway through, it seemed that the fireworks lit a spark of courage inside John. He snaked his arm around Sherlock's waist, still looking up at the sky. However, Sherlock tore his eyes away to stare down (Sherlock was just a half-inch taller -- he wasn't finished growing yet) at John. John then met his eyes and smiled warmly, and that was all the incentive Sherlock needed to wrap his arm around the other's waist too.

In the chilly night, they radiated their own circle of warmth together, and it would have been all quite romantic, had Sherlock had any idea about romance. Still, it was incredibly enjoyable.

Everyone knew it was almost midnight, because over the speakers, a man started to count down from 30.

28

27

26

25

John squeezed Sherlock warmly, bringing them closer. The fireworks continued.

19

18

17

16

15

Couples were bracing themselves for their traditional kisses when the numbers reached zero.

10

9

8

7

6

Sherlock turned his head away from the fireworks in the sky, looked to John, and as the countdown got to five, he said, "This is typically the kissing part, yes?"

John nodded and expected Sherlock to roll his eyes and make some remark about the stupidity of such an action.

4

3

It became clear that this was not going to happen.

2

1

Sherlock turned his body so that he was facing John, and just as the whole crowd screamed, "ZERO!" he ducked his head and firmly planted his lips on John's, bringing the arm that was not around John's waist to John's hip and johnjohnjohnjohnjohn.

It took half a moment for the other to react and bring his free hand up to cup Sherlock's neck, capturing Sherlock's full bottom lip with his own, stepping closer so that their chests were touching and their noses awkwardly clashed but it felt natural and good and right and he understood why the fireworks continued on for the first minute of the new year because for just a moment, it felt like they were exploding as a representation of their heartbeats.

The kiss was short and sweet unlike any kiss John had ever shared with his ex-girlfriends. They pulled away before the fireworks even ended, the kiss only lasted a couple seconds, but nothing was said. Their eyes met and their visible breath mingled between their mouths and their arms stayed around each other firmly, not willing to let go any time soon, at least not before the fireworks ended.

John had thought through a million witty lines to say to Sherlock if they ever kissed, but all of them had slipped his mind when it finally happened. They were both just stunned out of speech. It was spectacularly worrisome for Sherlock, who was finding that his brain had stopped working for the time being, and that never happened, but due to his brain's lack of function, he couldn't bring himself to panic.

Sherlock decided then that it was as good as John said it would be, and his jumpers would remain hideous. But he found that he didn't mind so much.


End file.
